


Too Smart for Your Own Good

by mousaerato



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Accidental Criminal Behavior, Cognitive Dissonance, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Inappropriate Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Stalking, Unethical Medicine, Unlawful Entry, Unreliable POV Character, Voyeurism, persona 5 royal spoilers, rationalization of behavior, sanity slippage, third semester spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousaerato/pseuds/mousaerato
Summary: This is for her happiness, he tells himself. He doesn't care what happens to him. Nothing is more important.
Relationships: Maruki Takuto/Rumi, Takuto Maruki/Rumi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to post this as a single long work, but it got longer than I expected, so I'm posting it in chapter form. I might end up condensing it later. 
> 
> Explicit content isn't here yet, but it will be.

The white of the coat is symbolic. It is proof to all of dedication to something bigger than one’s self. It denotes purity of mind and heart, a singularity of purpose. It speaks without words of toil, sacrifice, and fidelity – an oath. And though Maruki Takuto had earned that esteemed title of “Doctor,” he looked at his crisp ivory dress suit and felt _failure_ seep into his skin. That was another oath he never got to take – a promise unfulfilled.

The ice-blue light of the monitors blanched the man’s skin and the sterile walls around them; the ambient drone of the pulsating cobalt cables suffocated any interference. These periods of research meant no outsiders, no interruptions, no dissent. Even with his tenure at Syujin Academy completed, time was a precious commodity – he didn’t even like to sleep these days.

The doctor turned his gaze to the first monitor, focused on the depraved core of Mementos. Obviously, his access had not been severed, but he could never be too cautious. The cables were intact, contorting and fusing to the walls of the hive as they grew and slithered through the cave’s upper echelons. _No sign of them,_ Maruki noted. _Not of that weird kid, either. Good._

With white-gloved hands, Maruki pushed up his glasses and turned to look at another screen. This one showed Mementos proper, with its bulbous shadows, echoed whispers and bones. There were still some people in need of his help – these particularly pained creatures were able to carve out their own nests from the chaos. He liked to keep tabs on how these spaces developed – and of course, he wanted to check how many people he needed to save. _Seven,_ he noted. _More than yesterday. Is this from people realizing they can be saved? Are their shadows ossifying from accepting the possibility?_

There were monitors each for his special subjects as well -- the children whose torments screamed to him for justice and miracles. Eight of them were living blithely with their wishes granted, but there were still two that remained stubbornly determined to suffer. Maruki sighed and shook his head before focusing on Akechi Goro and Amamiya Ren. It made no sense to him – were these two more ill and traumatized than his observations and notes suggested? He didn’t want to force their hands, but to refuse what’s in your best interests – to try the same living and expecting different results – was _madness._ As a doctor with a unique gift to heal, Maruki knew he had an obligation to act in what would be best for them, even if they didn’t completely understand. _I’ll get through to you, too – I promise._

Fiery eyes lined with sleepless cinders flitted through the feeds of Mementos, glossed over the empty streets of Shibuya, the stillness in Kanda and Jinbocho, the vigor of Kichijoji. Were there any deep disturbances, he would have noticed them – sensed them – in the public’s cognitive world. Besides, he wasn’t done following up with all his subjects. His former students-cum-clients were, for the most part, alright – and he had hope that the last few would come around as his labor bore fruit. What needed observation was Patient Zero.

Takuto clenched his jaw and braced himself. He closed his eyes, swallowed back anxious spit, and pivoted to the largest screen. His connection to his first was strong enough that in a world shaped by cognition, he could discern something of her presence. At first, the images were mottled and gray – liked aged photographs or newspaper clippings. As his work towards actualization progressed, more data filled those gaps, sharpened the image, brought her back to life. With anticipation and a pang in his heart, the man in white opened his eyes and gazed at the luminous glass.

Keen observational skills were essential for a scientist; no detail could go unaccounted for. The image from the feed was _finally_ clear enough. Too thrilled at his success, Takuto rose from his seat and walked to the large screen to get a closer look. It had been years since he’d seen anything of her besides the yellowing photographs and the specters in his dreams – his work was vital, indeed. If he could reach even a ghost of the past, how many more could he help?

A pristine turquoise tower soared to the sky, shimmering with perfectly identical windows, dotted with AC units. The paint job on the exterior was very new, Takuto noted – this was a very modern apartment complex. The ground was covered with carefully-planted saplings and shrubbery – he even noted an _herb garden_ sitting in new cream-colored planters. It gave the contemporary edifice a kind of humble, homely charm, he thought. _Cute,_ even.

“Where is this?” Takuto marveled, eyes flashing with determination. There had to be something that could guide him, give context, a clue. When he’d last spoken to Rumi, she claimed she lived in the countryside – this was clearly _not_ anything rural. He scanned the bottom of the image, hoping to see numbers, a sign, a name, but his sight had not grown that powerful yet. All he could make out were pixels censoring where road names _would_ be, and no numbers. He’d have to rely on something else.

He examined the buildings that flanked the complex: smaller apartment buildings, old but well-maintained; street lights with one flickering flight, clearly broken; a _park,_ certainly unusual. When the park gave no details or hints, he looked to the other corner of the image, hoping for _something_ he could use to guide him. And that’s when he saw it: _a university hospital._

Faint hope and a soft smile played across Takuto’s face. Of course Rumi, the woman who believed she’d been chronically ill, would move to a place near a medical facility. Add that to his own knowledge of universities with medical campuses, it wouldn’t be hard to narrow down a location. Very few of them were near residential areas, after all. All he had to do was cross-check some online maps, maybe contact Directory Assistance, and that would tell him where she was finally safe and sound. It wouldn’t take long.

More questions came to mind: _Was the actualization permanent? Are there moments where the overlay falters, like with Kasumi? Were there unintended physical side-effects, like those horrific headaches he had years ago? Is she really okay? Does she remember anything of her old life?_ She was the person whose actualization was the longest-lasting. He had to check that it still held.

The good doctor left his laboratory and retired to his paltry apartment. Between low wages and the cognitive world meeting his needs, his accommodations in the real world were ascetic: a few snacks, bottled water in the fridge, overripe apples, a small bed with one set of sheets, an old television, a tiny laptop. His priorities were saving the world with his work; room and board weren’t important. Sure, his lifestyle had the added effect of a decent amount of savings tucked away, but even that wasn’t necessary. After all, he no longer needed research funding.

As he walked to his bedroom, Maruki noticed that his attire had changed back to his less formal, more bookish clothes. While they were comfortable and practical, they were foreign to him – they didn’t communicate the seriousness of his purpose, and they simply weren’t as tailored to him. He sat at his small desk, opened his laptop, and turned on his VPN. As a psychologist, Maruki valued confidentiality. He couldn’t be careless with information.

His computer was the only thing in his abode he had invested any real effort or cash into. It was a small model, a sleek black, with respectable storage space and a powerful processor. There were backups – external hard drives, SD cards, even USBs – but this still remained his stronghold in the real world. He opened his preferred non-tracking browser, and began looking up public maps of regions in and around Tokyo. He knew there was a website that had street-view maps – it would only be a matter of time until he found a place in Japan with a park, and apartment complex, and a university hospital in relative proximity to each other. All he had to do then was look at the street views, confirm with some online research, see if Rumi had her phone number registered anywhere, and he’d have his destination.

To Maruki’s great fortune, he found a neighborhood in Yokohama that met the requirements and had a brand new _blue_ apartment complex. By his calculations, getting to that part of the city would take just under an hour by mass transit, but taking the trains meant some degree of risk. He didn’t know the Yokohama region very well, and if something were to go wrong, he’d be beholden to the bus timetables if he needed to leave. And if he were being honest with himself, spatial reasoning wasn’t exactly his strong suit – the microphone incident still played in his memory. _No,_ he concluded – _I need a direct route in and out, with my own GPS._

He’d have to rent a vehicle. Something unassuming. A dark color, older model, a little worn. He’d be able to get close to the apartment and leave with ease if he needed to in the event of unnecessary questions, or _worse,_ if Rumi _saw_ him. He knew from her violent spasms and screaming that his being was inextricably linked to her pain – and if he wasn’t sure about the strength of the cognitive overlay, he’d have to make sure he was never noticed. This was about ensuring her safety and happiness.

_How close should I get? Should I get binoculars, just in case? What if someone asks why I’m there?_

_I’ll tell them I’m thinking about moving to this area. That I got a job at the hospital. Keep the binoculars in the glove compartment._

Takuto’s stomach churned, and acid nipped at his throat. He winced, and vertigo seized him for a split second. He didn’t want to lie – that was distasteful to him. Unethical. His right hand rifled through his pocket for his wallet to get his debit card – he’d need to pay for everything in cash. He couldn’t risk Rumi seeing his name and _remembering_ everything.

 _It’s not lying. I really could get a job there, if I wanted._ Takuto shook his head and took a deep breath to center himself. This wasn’t the time to get cold feet – not when success was so close. Not when it meant helping so many. _Just do what you have to do,_ he reminded himself. _You don’t back down when you’ve made up your mind._

Takuto glanced at his hands, and for a split moment, saw them covered in those perfect ivory gloves. He clenched and unclenched his digits, cleared his throat, grabbed his phone, and made a call. Maruki’s voice was bright, collected, and jovial.

“Hello? Yes, I am looking into a job in Yokohama – I know I can get there by bus, but I’d like to drive around the neighborhood since I’ll probably move there. What are your prices for car rentals? …Well, I don’t think I’ll be moving there soon, so probably longer than a week. Um, actually, could I rent a vehicle for a month? … Don’t worry, I’m not looking for anything fancy,” he laughed, putting the surprised employee on the other end at ease. “Just something low-key that’ll get me from point A to point B without any problems. No bright colored cars, though – I’ve heard they get more tickets, and I’m still not very familiar with the place…”

 _This will...probably take more than one trip_ , he rationalized. _I’m not that lucky._

Dusk, Maruki surmised, was the ideal time to take his trip. While he wanted to take in the apartment and observe Rumi with the benefit of light, a little cover was a necessary precaution. He _could_ attempt a cognitive overlay, but with the reach of his abilities already tenuous at this range, he decided against it. Plus, making changes to cognition would invalidate any results he gleaned from observing Rumi; everything had to remain untouched to confirm if any signs of relapse or failure were from his work. He reviewed the plan in his mind as he installed his phone into the car’s phone mount: _no detours. Stay calm. If anyone asks about the binoculars, claim you’re looking for a rare bird that comes out at dusk. Don’t linger._

The scientist surmised that the images available in Odaiba would be more detailed if he had more direct contact with the subject matter. Of course, the goal here was Rumi, but Takuto remembered from their old life together that she liked to go for walks around dusk – confirming if that was still a habit of hers would help him determine the depth of the overlay, and if there was any concern that her cognition was amiss. _Get close enough to see, wait for her, check for any signs of disorientation or memory…and go._

Simple. Direct. A clear exit strategy. Just the way Maruki liked it. He packed the binoculars he’d purchased into the glove compartment, buckled up, and made his way according to the too-chipper navigator voice on his phone.

“You will arrive at your destination in 25 minutes,” announced the GPS. A marked improvement from the ETA via mass transit, the researcher noted as he pushed back his hair. He’d have plenty of time to make it to his laboratory and follow up on the results of his work. All that was left now was to drive and not get into any accidents or traffic violations – thankfully, Maruki was just as precise with his navigation as he was with any other aspect of his work.

The dark-haired man coursed through the asphalt veins of the city, and a sense of clarity engulfed him. It was that rare high coveted by scientists, the spark that burned away the unnecessary and illuminated the truth. Deep down, every researcher sought this sense of flow – that moment where order rises from chaos and the singular obsession to reach the answer takes root. The simple, mathematical beauty of a certain path slaked a rare thirst few could savor correctly. All he had to do now was stay on the route.

At twenty-five minutes precisely, Maruki heard the words he hoped for: “You have arrived.”

The gunpowder gray sedan was unremarkable; it completed a dotted line of monochrome cars that flanked the sidewalk. He was across the street, diagonal from the complex – far away enough to be unnoticed, but close enough that he could watch safely. He couldn’t risk being identified – if Rumi caught even the smallest hint of his existence, there was a chance that her happiness would shatter like broken glass.

Takuto was not a man of faith, but a prayer crossed his mind: _Please, be happy in this reality, Rumi._ He noted his start time – 19:45 – and began his observations.

Dark, determined eyes pierced the block across the street, noting every movement, every human body that cast shadows along the cement and grass. Most of them were unremarkable: short women with light brown dye-jobs chattering away, student couples wearing the latest cutting-edge style and self-induced peroxide coifs, svelte salarymen walking the precious family dog. The visuals were quaint, if Takuto could be honest with himself – perhaps in another life, this _would_ be his home.

Time stretched and snapped; such was time when Maruki was dedicated to his research projects. He could pore over gigabytes of data, write and type until his fingers burned, forego meals, even sacrifice sleep provided he got what he wanted in the end. Then, at 20:03, the solitary man got his answer.

He didn’t gasp; Takuto had more self-control than that. He allowed himself a sharp breath of shock, as if stabbed, and willed his right hand to the glove compartment while maintaining his line of sight. With precision and ease, he removed his glasses and watched the body with the too-familiar gait walk toward the blue building he saw in his lab hours earlier.

She still had that glossy, soft bob cut that framed her heart-shaped face – her hair and skin were well-maintained, he noted. _Good. She’s taking care of herself._ His eyes followed down her thin neck to her clothes: muted colors, simple, sweet. As he took in her frame, Takuto spoke: “She hasn’t aged a day.” Whatever she was doing to take care of herself, it was definitely working. He found himself fixing upon her face once more, adjusting the lenses of the binoculars to get a better look at her eyes. They seemed unclouded, unconcerned – _no worries or pain,_ Takuto marveled. There was a good chance that his work granting her happiness still remained undisturbed, but he still had questions.

He watched her make her way to the blue apartment complex and tried to see if there was a key box or pin pad she needed to press to enter. Even something to hint at a floor would help. This building had dozens of units – she could be in any one of them. Practiced fingers adjusted the focus on the binoculars, and while he was still very far away, he could see that Rumi entered a simple pin and was allowed entrance.

 _This is risky,_ Takuto admitted to himself, _but I don’t have a choice._

The man put down his binoculars and drove slowly to the complex once he knew Rumi was safely inside. He stopped, rolled down his window, and took a passing glance into the glass door. He was gambling at this point, but even a small clue could help…

 _An elevator._ Maruki noted an elevator in the front hall, and from the looks of the lights on it, it had recently returned to the first floor. That was the lead he needed – she was on a high enough floor that she would decline taking the stairs.

 _Now to go to Odaiba,_ he thought. With more data at his disposal and with the power of the metaverse at his disposal, he was sure he could figure out an apartment number. She looked fine, sure, but…he had to be certain there was _no trace_ of her past, anything that could trigger a collapse. What if she kept something from her parents? What if there’s photos of where she actually grew up that she couldn’t stop being attached to?

_What if she has something of mine? What if she remembers something of me?_

He had to see that apartment. If there was any chance of her actualization falling apart, then all his work would be for nothing. This had to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

With adrenaline simmering in his veins, Maruki Takuto swept through the neighborhood’s back roads, disregarding the speed limit as he pursued his destination. It was late, there was no traffic, and there were no cameras or police to catch or clock him. _Everyone speeds sometimes - especially when there’s something urgent to attend to._ There was nothing unusual or improper about that. In just over 19 minutes, the concerned doctor had returned to Odaiba, ready to research further for the sake of his patient.

Rushed, confident strides carried the man to the core of his research ward. His mind was singularly focused on the task at hand – he paid no mind to his deferential assistant shadows, or to the way his clothing returned to the comfortable, pristine white. One thought was on his mind as he sat down, and nothing would distract him: _Find Rumi’s apartment number. Immediately._ Public records provided the complex address, but nothing else.

As the source of the lab’s raw power, the doctor’s intentions and emotions held great influence in the building, to Maruki’s benefit. The monitors had already calibrated themselves to the exterior of Rumi’s apartment complex and a spot in mementos that seemed to hide memories of the building’s layout and insides. All that was left now was to scour those fragments of others’ cognition: pinpoint them, isolate them, excise them, analyze them. 

_No different from asking around town,_ he thought. _Less chance of her hearing about it, though._ Therefore, it was the safer method for her mental state. Who knew what could trigger a relapse?

The screens in his data center flickered, shuffling through images of the twisted, wretched hive of Mementos. Viscous pitch tendrils tinged with electric blue slithered along the walls, probing the memories of its denizens’ unconsciousness. Images of encounters, clips of conversations – data points – played in rapid succession. The video footage filled the room and the doctor’s ears with cacophony: brief greetings, questions about directions, introductions melded together. Anyone else would wince with a headache, but Maruki was determined to keep his eyes open and trained on the screens. Besides, this _power_ had made him more than acquainted with headaches – he’d felt worse.

His eyes focused on one monitor to his right as he recognized the boxed plants along the sidewalk. That hint of a blue wall in the background – this was Rumi’s apartment complex, alright. A white-gloved finger ran across the monitor screen, adjusting the search’s focus from the singular image to its exact location in Mementos.

All it took was a breath and a thought. The tendril that lay placid on the wall roused to life and began to _dig,_ piercing the wall to burrow into it.

_Somewhere here. Someone knows._

More images splashed across the screen, sharper and more lucid than the dreamlike, generalized specters he’d found before: a first person POV of a make out session in an elevator, a phone call about a meeting at work, dropping a suitcase near an apartment door, running up a flight of stairs….

And finally, there she was. The scene played out, first person – someone was talking to _her._

“Thanks again for your help,” she said with a light voice and a smile. “I get disoriented sometimes.”

_Disorientation,_ Maruki noted, eyes narrowing. _That could be the overlay._

A woman’s voice responded, “It’s a big city. You’ll get used to it – oh, hey! Looks like we’re neighbors.”

Rumi asked, “You’re in apartment 503?”

_Ah, 502 then,_ the researcher surmised. _No cameras in that hall, either._

“Yep! Come over one day.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother—”

“Not a bother! I live by myself too. I’ll have a reason to test out some new recipes.”

At that, Maruki winced. Rumi always did love when he cooked for her. With a dismissive flick of his fingers, the doctor turned off all the monitors. He had the information he needed.

The dark-haired man in white allowed himself a sigh. His tired eyes were downcast as he exited the data center to retire to a small office. He was glad that Rumi had made friends and was living a happy life, surrounded by good people who supported her and doctors who could ensure her “chronic illnesses” didn’t impede her dreams. Even from that small glimpse of her, he could see that she was healthy, joyful, and loved.

_Loved._

Maruki grabbed a pen and papers from his office and sat it at the desk with him. His gaze fixed upon the legal pad’s yellow leaves and blue lines, meagerly attempting to regain focus. Takuto was _remembering_ things – insidious shadows of the past that liked to haunt him. He needed clarity, not phantom emotions. He tapped the tip of the pen against the yellow paper, as if to stab and scare those feelings away, creating a steady rhythm.

Steadily, surely, words formed on the paper from Takuto’s hand:

_Check the apartment  
Look for photos  
Things from our old apartment  
Do not talk to anyone  
Do not be seen  
Unlock the door_

Finally, he spoke. “I’ll need to know the best time to go.”

He’d been working for a few hours in the lab – from his estimations, it was 3 AM in the real world. Going back to the apartment would make him look like an intruder – he might even get questioned before he opened the door to the complex.

_How could I explain myself then?_

No. While it was risky, he’d have to hide in plain sight. Entering at night would be too obviously suspicious – he’d look like some kind of criminal.

Maruki mulled over possibilities: daytime, on a weekday, during regular business hours that wouldn’t cover meal breaks. Most people would be out of their apartments at that time. He could observe people exiting the building and wait for an opportunity to enter the complex. After that, it would be five floors up and one door away.

“Would the door be locked?” Takuto asked to the open air. While that neighborhood wasn’t known for crime, he recalled her as being a thoughtful person. She always locked the doors back then—

_But she grew up in a rural area with her grandparents,_ he recalled. _In this reality. There wouldn’t be any reason to lock the doors. Nobody else was around where she “grew up.”_

If the door was locked, then Maruki Takuto had even more reason to double-check the effectiveness of the treatment. Could her locking the door be a sign of lingering fear? There was only one way to be sure – he’d need more evidence and data.

Not today, however. He would need to rest and pick a good time to arrive at the complex.

_When are deliveries done there, anyway?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total fic so much longer than I anticipated, and I apologize.

The bed in Maruki Takuto’s apartment remained untouched, with crisply-folded bed sheets and comforters. The pillows rested pristine and undisturbed; not even a hair could be found on their azure surfaces. The bed’s owner had no use for it over the last five days – his preparation and research left him confined to his living room, only leaving for absolute essentials. Truth be told, he’d barely eaten in the last few days – apples lay rotting in a basket on the kitchen table, and the smell of just-expired eggs began leaking into the air. Those things weren’t important, though – all that mattered was the final plan that flashed across the laptop screen.

After hours upon days of determined research and digging, he’d found all the information he needed. He’d calculated a third route to the apartment complex, dotted with locations he could claim to be patronizing; he’d used Google, Line, and Facebook to determine a window of time when the complex would be the most empty; he’d found out when deliveries were done to get an easy way in. All he had to do was watch for when Rumi left, and go in.

_Deep breaths. I have to do this._

Before he began his mission, the counselor took the time to ensure he was presentable. Dark circles under the eyes weren’t uncommon these days, but being unwashed with sour morning breath, driving around in sweaty clothing? _That_ would make him look like some kind of… _troubled_ person. Lack of self-care like skipping baths or meals was a problem he understood too well in his work. Still, it took sheer force of will to complete the tasks meticulously; everything in him screamed that he had a short window of opportunity. From his observations in the real world and Mementos, Rumi left her apartment between 8:15 and 8:45 every weekday; the mail and deliveries arrived between 11:00 AM and 11:30. His goal was to arrive no later than 8:05 to get visual confirmation, and his route was new. This was yet another risk, but he _knew_ there was no alternative.

The GPS was a savior for him during his drive. Rattled and jittery from lack of rest and lingering anxiety, Maruki depended on it to give him the information he needed to keep his narrative intact. “ _I’m going to this store in this region because they’re the only place that has an item I need,”_ he imagined himself explaining to a curious officer or local. _“My friend mentioned this place had a sale.” “I’m looking into moving here, so I wanted to take a look at the shops nearby.”_ None of those were untrue in the strictest sense. That kept him able to keep a calm, unaffected face.

After 27 minutes of driving, Maruki heard what he wanted: “You have arrived.”

_8:03. Just in time._

The rental car was parked at that same intersection where the good doctor had an ideal vantage point. All he had to do now was wait – once he knew _she_ was out of the building, he could take a quick nap. Goodness knew he needed it.

Takuto had vivid memories of Rumi; she was his cherished lodestar. Her voice, smile, skin, taste, gait, scent, and hair were seared into his mind like a brand.

Or a scar. One that tingled and burned and itched when touched. Always an annoyance; sometimes an affliction; forever a memory. He would know her anywhere, even if she didn’t know him anymore. 

The minutes flowed like syrup – sometimes with a rhythm, but always longer than expected. Maruki saw children in uniforms leaving for school, college students making beelines to the nearest mass transit, and more than a few singletons going out to work. To Maruki, they were noise – the haystack that hid the red-haired needle.

Takuto’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute; the temptation to surrender to sleep was strong and heady. Even so, he refused to flinch – he pinched his wrist, bit the inside of his cheek, and jolted himself to alertness. For a split second, he shifted his sights to the clock on his phone – 8:20. Any minute now.

_Any minute now._

When Rumi’s familiar figure and sweet face finally appeared, any semblance of sleepiness disappeared from Maruki’s mind and body. She was his driving force, his inspiration – seeing her in person was a sip from the waters of life itself. A tingling jolt coursed over his skin, and his gaze passed over every inch of her, savoring the image. He noticed no abnormalities or disturbances in her, as expected from the last time.

_Not that she ever had flaws._

The thought made its way to his mind surreptitiously. It was brief and fleeting, but Maruki allowed it. It didn’t change his goals, he decided.

Those dark, precise eyes followed Rumi’s walk from the complex, across the street, and finally, out of his sight. All that remained now was to get into the building and check the room.


End file.
